The Way You Look Tonight
by Upside-Up
Summary: So it's March, and finals are just around the corner and where I am it's rainy and grey and I think we could all use a little fluff. Barney/Robin. Might expand into multi-chap depending on reader response. R/R Please!


"Barney," Robin starts. Her fingers are on the stem of her wine glass and her plate of food sits half-eaten in front of her.

He looks up from his plate and his eyes are warm, blue. They're at a restaurant called Chloe's, well dressed and eating the second-best rare steak Robin has ever tasted. She's in a long, silky, deep-purple dress and he wears an impeccably tailored black suit. The only word she can think to describe him is _dashing_ and the thought makes her laugh at herself and makes her stomach feel a little bit like she's going backwards on a swing. She briefly wonders how he'd managed to match the colour of his paisley tie to her dress exactly.

This is the third night this week they've gone out together, just the two of them. Tuesday was laser tag and drinks and they had ended the night giddy and wandering the streets trying to flag down passing cabs. They'd won their match and she couldn't remember laughing so much as they walked, his hand occasionally brushing the back of her own. At the end of the night, as he walked her to her door, she'd given him a hug and thanked him for taking her out. Otherwise, she had said, she would have been home with Ted during is late eighties horror flick marathon and there was simply _no way_ that was gonna happen. Barney had stroked her hair and told her he'd take her out anytime. That night she'd gone to bed smiling.

Thursday was impromptu; their friends had just never shown up at MacLaren's that night. Lily and Marshall were having a night in and Ted was making up the work he'd neglected two nights before. She had walked in to find Barney in a contemplative mood and they had talked in a manner they could only have with no one else around. Robin had barely noticed that her hand had spent the majority of the night on the table, nestled under his. After a small tirade about the impossibility of ever finding a steak as delicious as the ones her uncle Goodie used to barbeque, Barney had smirked and offered to take her to the best steakhouse in town. "But doll up, Sherbatsky, this place has class."

And the place _is_ classy. Robin is glad she wore the stilettos, as much as she knows she'll later regret it. Barney has been hilariously, wonderfully _Barney_ all night; not in the way Ted or Lily or Marshall would use the descriptor 'Barney,' but in the way she knows him to be when there's no one else around. He's being charming. He's equal parts funny, inappropriate and sweet with a little bit of damn-fine thrown in for good measure. He makes her feel comfortable, even in her pinching heels.

She looks at him now, his eyes locked with hers and a look of patient expectation rests on his features. She can't think of one person she'd rather be out with at this exact moment. Too many questions bounce around her head and she spits out, finally, the one that seems the most pressing.

"Are we on a date right now?"

His eyebrows raise and his face grows one or two shades redder. She notices this change, she realizes, because she's been staring at him all night. He opens his mouth to answer but closes it again; looks around the restaurant and smiles.

"It sure seems that way, doesn't it?" He chuckles a little and Robin is afraid she's just said something incredibly stupid. Is he laughing at her? There's a short pause in which Robin can visualize 27 ways in which she could have just embarrassed the hell out of herself before Barney takes a deep, shaky breath in.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world if it was?" he says, his voice vulnerable and soft, his smile now just a shadow on his lips. Robin doesn't reply, can't wrap her head around it.

"A date, I mean." He clarifies nervously.

Robin smiles and removes her slim fingers from the stem of her glass and reaches across the table. Barney shifts his hand and meets her halfway, entwining it with hers, letting his thumb trace along her wrist.

"I think it would be far from the worst thing in the world," Robin says through her growing smile.

Barney's face lights up and his hand squeezes hers.

The rest of the night is spent in a mood of playful relief. Gone are the numerous questions begging to escape Robin's lips; gone are the awkward silences in which she can almost see the gears turning in Barney's head; gone are any worries that they're not on the same page. They share a desert and feel free to touch each other without making excuses: no "there's something in your hair, let me get that," or "sorry, I thought there was lint on your sleeve." His gaze is unmasked somehow and she likes the way he looks at her like she's the only person in the whole world.

When the cheque has arrived and everything is paid for, he helps her shrug into her coat and offers his arm as they exit. It's such a sweetly formal gesture that Robin can't help but laugh and spend the next block speaking in a terrible British accent. He smiles and blushes (_blushes_) and Robin feels something she hasn't felt since long before she moved to the States. She feels _smitten_. And it feels really, really nice.

Tonight they don't bother hailing a cab; the walk from the steakhouse to Robin's apartment is only a few blocks and suddenly Robin's feet have stopped hurting altogether.

When they reach the steps to her door they pause and look at one another.

"So," she starts, smiling, "if this is a date, I'm guessing this is the goodnight kiss part." Barney cocks an eyebrow at her and smirks. She mirrors the expression, both her hands in his, and hopes that he can't hear how loudly her heart is beating.

"Well, I am a gentleman, and this is only our first date," he takes a step toward her and she can feel herself instinctively being drawn to him, "so really, I could get away with just kissing your hand." He brings one of her hands up to pause directly in front of his lips. His eyes are smiling, challenging her.

"Technically this is our third date," Robin replies; a checkmate-grin plasters her features. Barney's smile broadens until it fills his entire face, the entire street, and he drops her hand from his mouth and cups her cheek.

"In that case," he says, taking a final step in her direction.

When he kisses her, Robin feels like the past four years of her friendship with Barney has all culminated to form this precise moment. She snakes her hands around his back, spreading her fingers over the soft, smooth fabric as he uses his free hand, the one not caressing her face, to pull her closer to him. His lips taste like wine and chocolate and something she can't really place but suddenly never wants to go without; not even for a second. They continue kissing until they're both too busy smiling, laughing, to continue. He presses his forehead to hers and she closes her eyes. He kisses her again, slower this time, more deliberately and when he stops she pulls him close, wrapping him in the most meaningful hug she can muster. Barney threads his fingers through her hair and whispers in her ear, his breath warm on her neck, "so, see you tomorrow?"

She pulls her head back just far enough to be able to focus on those _eyes_ and reads happiness, relief and a bit of trepidation in them. There's also a lingering _something_ there that she decides not to analyze too closely; not yet.

"Yes," she confirms, placing a quick, soft kiss on his lips, "definitely."

He smiles at her and god, could she ever get used to that look, the one that makes her feel warm and fluttery, and she steps back and squeezes his hands. She walks up the steps to her building and turns around to see him standing, hands in his pockets, _gazing_ at her. Her cheeks flush warm and she gives a little wave. He returns it, letting his hand hang in the air a moment before strolling down the street in search of a cab.

Robin turns around and enters the building, climbing the stairs in time with the beating of her heart.


End file.
